


Catch A Falling Star

by AntivanCrafts



Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: M/M, Multi, you’ve heard of the sad dads now read the repressed depressed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-04
Updated: 2017-12-03
Packaged: 2019-02-10 10:10:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12909738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AntivanCrafts/pseuds/AntivanCrafts
Summary: Six months and four hours after Shepard’s empty coffin had been jettisoned into dark space Kaidan Alenko found himself in yet another shithole bar on yet another shithole station, staring down Sorrow Shepard’s holographic smile.





	Catch A Falling Star

Six months and four hours after Shepard’s empty coffin had been jettisoned into dark space Kaidan Alenko found himself in yet another shithole bar on yet another shithole station, staring down Sorrow Shepard’s holographic smile.

“On this day,” the hologram told a suddenly silent bar, “it is important to keep your memories close, but also… to not let them define you.” The hologram spoke easily, confidently, without the slightest hint of effort, and it set Kaidan’s teeth on edge. Sorrow Shepard had had a pronounced stutter, and had relied on his helmets to make an artificially generated version of his voice. Hearing it now, and seeing everyone nod along as if it represented any part of the truth, made his throat close up tight.

If he was feeling charitable (which he was not) Kaidan would have allowed that it only made sense to hear it. After all, to most of the galaxy, this was Shepard. This was the voice they were familiar with from interviews, from this very speech, not the soft, stuttering laugh that Kaidan remembered. He grimaced down at his drink as the hologram spread it’s hands and said, “Take this day as the opportunity it is, and allow yourself to take even one moment. Not for the dead, but for you. To allow yourself to be selfish in your need. Grief is selfish. Pain is selfish. But… selfish does not have to be a bad word.”

“People hear ‘selfish’ and they can only think of someone who is not open to the pain of others. But that is not what I hear. Not today. Today, I hear ‘selfish’ and I think of someone who is finally allowing themselves to feel that their pain is earned. That it is every bit as important as the feelings that aren’t there to be heard anymore. You have a right to take up space. To be angry, and sad, and twisted up inside. To be selfish in what you need. And if you feel you don’t…” The VI smiled again, that same awkward smile from every paparazzi photo ever taken of Sorrow, the same smile that had used to make Kaidan feel like the whole citadel was filled with stars. “Start with today.”

Kaidan was still staring at pixels that struggled to replicate the crinkle at the corners of Sorrow’s eyes. A familiar ache settled between his ribs as the thought occurred to him that maybe it wasn’t the hologram that was struggling to do memories justice, but still he couldn’t tear his eyes away. Wouldn’t. He watched as a ticker trailed past to remind everyone that this was the last official speech the savior of the citadel had given before his death, a comment had more than one person at the bar grumble unhappily to each other. He did not look at them. Did not look away from that frozen smile until the barstool beside him was pulled out.

“That seat’s taken,” Kaidan said without turning his head. His eyes had started to burn, and he scowled impatiently. Lifted the hand that held his glass and braced his forehead against it to disguise the twist of his mouth.

“My mistake.” Kaidan froze when he heard the distinctive metallic flanging effect that could only belong to a turian’s voice. It was the sarcasm that belonged to one turian in particular, however, that made him glance through amber colored space at Garrus Vakarian.

He wasn’t sure what he had expected to feel when he first set eyes on the alien that Sorrow had called his best friend -relief maybe, some vague sense of the comfort survivors always had in the vids- but it wasn’t this. Wasn’t this strange mixture of disappointment and resentment that had him grimace into his glass.

It was probably unreasonable of him to have somehow expected Garrus to wear visible signs of his loss, but Garrus looked exactly the same. Looked like he’d just stepped off of the flight deck of the SSV Normandy, and Kaidan felt a cold fist clench tight behind his ribs that made him turn away.

He looked back to the hologram that had gone on to resemble a news anchor, instead. He watched without listening as the news anchor went on to describe the attack that had taken the lives of Sorrow and twenty other members of the Normandy’s crew, none of whom had had their bodies recovered. “What are you doing, Garrus? Chasing down criminals one bar at a time? Must be satisfying.”

Garrus’s mandibles flared as if he wanted to say something. His clawed fingers scratched on the glass in his hand, but then he laughed and ducked his head. “Something like that,” he said. “One criminal, anyway.”

“Me?” Kaidan squinted, making his vision blur and break up. He stopped, clicked his tongue against his teeth, and impatiently scrubbed the back of his hand against his eye. When his hand fell, he glared at Garrus, daring him to comment. “I follow the rules. You’re the one who didn’t even show up for his funeral.”

“Life doesn’t stop just because his did, Kaidan.”

Kaidan was up and on his feet before he consciously decided to do so, hands fisted in the circular rim to the neck of Garrus’s armor and hauling him in close. “Don’t.” The words came out eerily flat, betrayed only by the white-knuckled clench of his fingers. “You don’t get to use him as an excuse.”

Garrus had his hands half-raised, his mandibles quivering in what Kaidan knew from long association was the turian equivalent of a forced smile. “You sure that’s me you’re talking about? The only one I see here using his death as a reason to die is you.”

Kaidan faltered for a moment before he recovered with a huff of a laugh and took a step back. “I’m not you, Garrus, and I’m not him, either. I don’t want to try.”

“You think Sorrow would recognize who you are trying to be?” Garrus regretted it the second the words came out, but it impossible to call them back now or to stop them from tumbling out of his mouth one after the other, faster and faster. “You want to join him so bad, stop dragging the rest of us into your mess.”

Kaidan could only stare at him for a moment, wide eyed and trembling with barely restrained anger. Garrus didn’t miss the telltale flicker of blue flame along his fingers, but kept his eyes trained on Kaidan’s, watching for the twitch of a microexpression that would mean he’d hit home. He found it. “What are you doing here, Garrus.” It wasn’t a question.

“Keeping you from ending up as another profile in courage,” Garrus bit out. “But I don’t see any courage here tonight.”

“No one asked you to.” Kaidan didn’t address that last part, but they both were aware of the clench and unclench of Kaidan’s hands. Garrus found he wanted him to finish the movement. Wanted him to lash out, with words or fists or biotics or all three at once. He wanted something, anything, to justify the hollow pang in his chest.

“Sorrow did, when he-” Garrus cut himself off just before he could make another mistake and finished the thought with chose you instead of me, but Kaidan heard the words anyway, and settled back on his heels.

“What are you really doing here, Garrus.”

Garrus’s mandibles fluttered wide before snapping tight to the points of his exposed teeth. “I told you, I-”

“No. You aren’t. You’re here because you want something to point yourself at. And I’m not going to give that to you, Garrus.” All of the anger had leeched out of Kaidan’s voice, leaving him sounding tired and far older than Garrus knew him to be. “Find your meaning somewhere else. I don’t have any to give you.”

Garrus started to speak, then stopped, then started again. He faltered partway into the first word, all of the harsh things he’d meant to throw at Kaidan suddenly weighing bitter on his tongue. Without another word, he turned and stalked away. His omnitool pinged as he shoved sightlessly past one patron and then another. Liara, looking for updates about Kaidan. He ignored it, the same way he ignored that small voice telling him to go back. The last time he’d listened to that voice, it had only been to helplessly watch Sorrow Shepard be torn apart in the crumbling ruins of the Normandy.

No more looking back. Never again.


End file.
